Page 99 of The Bonventi War
Three hours, twenty-seven minutes, and fourteen seconds. That's how long Gio has been gone.
I pace the length of his absurdly large living room, my bare feet cold against his marble floor, the chill doing nothing to calm my thoughts. And while the Bonventi legacy surrounds me, all I can think about is whether he will return to me.
I twist my engagement ring, giving my hands something to do, to stop them from shaking. The diamond is obscenely large, full of a dangerous promise—just like the man who gave it to me.
I grab my phone from the coffee table again, checking for messages. Nothing. I've called him eight times. Each call went straight to voicemail.
"Breathe," I say to myself. "He's coming back. He has to."
I rub my raven tattoo. My mother's voice whispers in my head:Trust your instincts, my sweet girl.
Ugh, my instincts are screaming that something's wrong, but maybe that's just fear being louder.
Walking to the kitchen, I pour myself some water.
Is this what it means to love Giovanni Bonventi? This waiting. This fear. This terrible knowledge that he's out there right now, dealing death because of me.
No, no. He said after tonight it's over.
As I raise the glass for a sip, headlights sweep across the front entrance, cutting through the darkness outside. My heart leaps into my throat.
I set the glass down and run through the house, yanking open the front door and rushing down the steps.
Gio's car pulls to a stop in the circular driveway. The driver's door opens, and he emerges slowly, the security lights illuminating him in harsh white light.
My heart stops.
He's covered in blood, his clothes torn, dark stains splattered across his chest and arms. Blood runs down his left arm, dripping from his fingers onto the ground. His face is grim, exhausted, but his eyes light up when they find mine.
"Gio!" I rush forward, my voice breaking. "Oh my God, what happened? Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," he says, but I can hear the strain in his voice. "Just a scratch."
I slide under his good arm, supporting him despite his size. "A scratch? You're bleeding everywhere!"
"Don't worry." His lips press against my hair. "My doctor will be here soon. He'll patch me up."
I help him into the house, fighting the rising panic in my chest. "Living room or kitchen?"
"Kitchen," he says. "Better light."
I guide him to one of the kitchen chairs, easing him down. Up close, the damage is even worse. The makeshift bandage around his forearm is soaked with blood.
"You need to go to a hospital," I say, grabbing a clean dish towel and pressing it against his wound.
"No hospitals." His voice is firm. "Dr. Russo is discreet. He's coming. Don't worry."
I don't know what to do. My mind is going a million miles a second. I grab my water glass. "Drink this. You're probably dehydrated."
He gives me a strange look but listens to me. While he drinks, I gather more towels, a bowl of warm water, and the first-aid kit from under the sink. I gently clean his face, wiping away smears of blood that aren't his own. The thought makes my stomach turn, but I push it away.
"Tell me what happened," I say, trying not to focus on the terror that's been gripping me for hours.
Gio looks at me, his eyes intense. "It's over, Raven. They're dead."
I sit on the chair beside him, pushing his hair back from his forehead. "Both of them? Viktor and Mikhail?"
He nods, wincing as I dab at a cut on his cheekbone. "Ares took care of Mikhail. I handled Viktor personally." His voice drops. "He'll never threaten you again. I made sure of it."
